


Prisoner

by FiveLeafClover



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I can't write fight scenes, No Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Out of Character, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Please Forgive me, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Sensory Overload, Tony Stark Has A Heart, also everyone apart from peter p and tony appear briefly, he's totally a dad ok, i'm honestly embarrassed at how bad the fight scenes are in this, in like one scene, maybe i don't know i've never written for them before, peter totally thinks random-ass things in brackets, so so sleep deprived help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-05-17 15:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14834823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiveLeafClover/pseuds/FiveLeafClover
Summary: After the remaining Avengers defeat Thanos and restore everyone who turned to dust, the world continues as normal.The world, minus Peter Parker.((Due to Life Stuff the next update is gonna be sometime in June 2019, I'm sorry))





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i've never written for anything to do with marvel before so please be gentle :) i hope this isn't too out of character but it's hard and everyone's got to start somewhere right
> 
> also posted on fanfiction/net under the username InfinityAndOne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter swings through Queens four months after the events on Titan and can't help recalling it (a fancy chapter summary, it's basically the prologue haha).

Peter swings through Queens, high up and mask off. He doesn't like wearing his mask anymore, not when he doesn't have to. The feeling of his chest constricting and his lungs burning just before he became the inside of a hoover (he's got to be sarcastic to cope; sue him) returns to him when he has that tight fabric pressed up against his mouth. The feeling of his suit on his body isn't much better, but just knowing he's in his suit and he's  _Spider-Man_  eases the constant feeling of dread inside of him.

As he flies over a busy street, passing only momentarily, jealousy rushes through him much like the wind does with his hair. Jealousy because all the people below him have found normality and relief after everything that happened. After half of the fricking world's population turned to dust. Of course, whoever was left from the Avengers managed to defeat Thanos and restore the dusted (and Vision, though according to Mr Stark he's now just like he was when he was first 'created') who simply re-appeared where they originally disappeared.

Which meant, for Peter and a few others, they were restored on Titan.

_.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._

 _The first thing he's aware of is his whole body tingling. Buzzing like a thousand flies, gathered around a yet-to-be-emptied rubbish bin. He's almost scared to open his eyes, scared to see Mr Stark's face in front of him, worried and pained because that meant he was going to die and there was nothing to be done. But as he feels the ground beneath him, kind of dirty and dusty (and he can_ smell _the destruction around him) he knows he can't be dying. He feels all too real and not at all in any pain. So, he braves it, and his eyes open to a sky that definitely wasn't Earth's. He twists his head to the side, feeling kind of weak but not overly so, and the lack of Mr Stark startles him out of his daze and he jumps up (his head spins with the sudden movement but he doesn't have time to care about that) and frantically turns around, looking for him._

_His eyes only pass the other people with him, the ones - he realises sickeningly - that he witnessed turned to literal dust, carried off by the wind. A shudder runs up his spine._

_"What the hell just happened?" Quill exclaims, and Peter turns to face in his direction. He's looking around, confused and shaking slightly. They are all shaking slightly. Peter watches as Quill's eyes land on his two friends (he was a little preoccupied with defeating Thanos to remember everyone's names). "Oh my God," he breathes out. "You're alive."_

_"Of course we're alive, Quill," the guy said._

_"I watched you turn to dust, Drax." (Oh, Drax._ Come on, Peter. Remember that. _) "God. You okay? Both of you?"_

_"It was like sleeping," the bug lady says, gravitating towards Drax._

_"Essentially, yes."_

_Peter turns to Dr Strange, watching the man rise calmly._

_"After Thanos snapped his fingers, half the universe would have faded away, their souls stored in the Soul Stone, sleeping, waiting to be awakened."_

_"And are we? 'Awakened', I mean," Quill says._

_Dr Strange rolls his eyes. "Of course, dumbass. You're here, aren't you?"_

_"So is Thanos gone?"_

_Dr Strange nods. "Must be."_

_Peter looks at the man strangely (_ haha, strangely, good job, Peter _), opening his mouth to ask and wondering how the hell he knows because he watched the man dissolve. Oh yeah, there was that time not that long ago (but really, how long has it been?) where he looked like a possessed monkey surrounded in green. He promptly shut his mouth (probably looking like a fish) and luckily nobody seemed to have noticed._

_"Er, guys," Peter says when an uneasy silence settles around them. "How exactly are we going to get home?"_

_.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._

They ended up in the Guardian's (of the Galaxy, apparently, which - so cool) spaceship, Dr Strange staying largely silent (which Peter had no problem with, he doesn't have anything against the guy but, like, he was a contributing factor to him getting dusted so) and the rest of them idly chattering. It didn't take long for Quill to remember Gamora, remember what the blue person said and remember what Thanos said, and Peter recognised the signs of someone in the depths of pain and yet trying to stay above water (May tried to be subtle after Uncle Ben but Peter's perceptive). And that left Peter sitting there, the recent events replaying in his mind and his thoughts running away from himself.

_.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._

_"Cool ship, man," Peter says, trying to distract himself from the phantom ache he actually experienced before he was erased._

_Quill turns back and smiles at him briefly, before glaring at Drax. "See,_ man _. I'm a man. With a cool ship." He turns back to Peter. "I like you, I'm keeping you, Spider-Boy."_

_Peter rolls his eyes. "Spider-Man," he mutters under his breath._

_"You are not a man, Quill, you are a dude," Drax says. "And if he is a dude you are definitely not a man. You are a boy."_

_Quill snorts, "going to have to agree on that, kid."_

_He hears Dr Strange chuckle behind him. It's like being with Tony Stark all over again, and he can't say he doesn't' like it._

_Peter sighs anyway. "I take it back, dude. Also, this ship sucks."_

_"He does not mean that," Mantis (see, he can learn people's names) says. Quill laughs and Peter just sighs again- but he can't say he has any objections to it, it brings back some kind of normality within an otherwise out-of-this-world experience (and he's literally out-of-this-world)._

_Sometime later, Peter jolts awake. He can't remember what he dreamt about but he knows it wasn't pleasant. He doesn't even remember falling asleep (which, honestly, is an improvement - last time he totally knew he was ~~dying~~ falling asleep and that hurt like hell and scared him just as much, so, improvement)._

_"God, it's been a long time since I was here," Quill says, mostly to himself. "Let's see if I can land right."_

_And sure enough, Peter looks out the front window to see his home planet (his completely_ spherical _home planet). He briefly wonders how long it took to get back, how long he was asleep for, but then puts it out of his mind. The way his body is feeling is far too prevalent for him to think of and focus on much else._

_It doesn't take long after that for Dr Strange to bid them a short farewell and disappear, muttering something about needing to sort a lot of things out. The Guardians stay on the ship, missing two of their teammates apparently (a racoon and a tree, according to Quill) and that leaves Peter feeling just the tiniest bit lost (okay so maybe tiniest is an understatement)._

_As he gets off the ship and looks around, taking in the dark sky and the crescent-shaped moon and the quiet around him, he lets himself breathe for the first time since he was restored on Titan. He's never been more happy to be on Earth, to be in New York, to be home. (Not that's he's been anywhere other than Earth, or indeed America before he went to Germany, but it's nice all the same.)_

_"Right, kid," Quill says from behind him, stepping from the ship as well. "See you around, yeah?"_

_"You're going?"_

_"Well, we live very busy lives, Guardians of the Galaxy and all that."_

_Peter can't help it, of course he's a little disappointed they're going already. He doesn't quite know why, and logically them going is the best thing because they have to get their teammates back, but still. He wants them to stay for a bit. (It may be his crippling loneliness right now, but Peter decides not to think about that.)_

_The familiar sound of thrusters firing behind him, though, quickly pulls him from his thoughts and makes him spin so fast around he experiences a second of dizziness. "Mr Stark!" he exclaims._

_"God, Pete, thank God." He steps towards Peter, before halting his movements and looking unsure of himself. Honestly, Peter wants to just run to him and hold him, get comfort from the person he admires and trusts, but he knows he can't._

_"How'd you know I'm here?"_

_"Your suit. I set it to alert me when you got back after we… reversed everything."_

_Peter's suddenly thankful that he never had the chance to tinker with the new suit and take out any sort of tracker (not that he won't later, mind)._

_"Hey, dude," Quill says from behind him._

_Mr Stark rolls his eyes and looks over Peter's shoulder, prompting Peter to half-turn around so he can see the both of them. "Don't call me dude."_

_Quill mock salutes, "yessir. Well, you're welcome for bringing back your - what is he, your kid? Anyway, you're welcome."_

_Mr Stark shakes his head exasperatedly, and he looks at Peter with a mix of sadness and concern. "You okay, Spider-Man?"_

_"Just fine, Mr Stark", he says, even though he's anything but fine. His body is still tingling, everything has started to kind of hurt and he can't get the thought of knowing he was going to turn to dust just like he'd seen four people do it seconds before out of his head. He can't forget the feeling of imminent danger, scared out of his mind and clinging onto his mentor if he could, in any way, stop what he knew was about to happen. He can't help remember that small part of him thankful that he knew no-one else seemed to have felt it, but he can't help the envious part that they didn't feel it and for some reason (probably Spider-Sense, he reminds himself) he felt it all, and he can't forget the overwhelming guilt that filled him up as he lay on the ground, looking up at Mr Stark underneath Titan's sky, saying sorry because_ 'if you die, that's on me' _. He's anything but fine._

_"Good," Mr Stark replies after a few moments. He looks at Quill again. "By the way, Quill, we have some lost property back at our headquarters, think they belong to you."_

_Quill's face lights up instantly, and it takes a moment (more than a moment but he won't admit that) for Peter to catch on that he's talking about the rest of the Guardians. "Well, tell us where to go and I'll fly this baby there."_

_In the end, Peter decides to take the longer route back to the Avengers Headquarters (he wanted to go home, really, wanted to see May, but Mr Stark wanted to check him over) while Mr Stark flies back and Quill takes the ship. Peter ends up getting there later than the other two but he doesn't mind, the feeling of flying through the air and the adrenaline it creates helping him process what just happened in the last few hours - from literally being in space to being dusted to returning like nothing ever happened (though according to Mr Stark it had actually been almost six months since whatever happened on Titan, happened)._

_.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._

In the end, Peter met a lot of the Avengers. Apparently, they were regrouping back at the headquarters, which meant they were all there. People who he'd fought in Germany were there, greeting him with nothing malicious but smiles and claps on the shoulder (and by  _God_ , there were a lot of comments on his age, he knows he's young, okay, you don't need to remind him every 10 seconds). And he also met the rest of the Guardians, Groot - a talking tree - and Rocket, the raccoon (though don't ever call him that). He also met Thor - yes,  _the_  Thor (at which point his brain reminds him of the impression he did that Karen recorded and played back to him).

The rest of the evening was spent with those who had survived Thanos' Snap explaining to everyone who was stuck on Titan what happened, and everyone who was on Earth when it happened listening to the story once again (those lucky idiots were restored on Earth). Mr Stark practically forced Peter to crash there for the night (" _I just want to keep my eye on you, kid, what happened was dangerous_ ") and Peter had a very long phone call with May that night before he finally fell asleep. The next day, Peter went home to his Aunt (who survived the Snap, and while Peter didn't want her to die, knowing she spent practically 6 months without him after only recently losing Uncle Ben made his heart hurt). It was safe to say the next week was spent mostly in her company.

It seems, though, that after everything that happened, those who essentially died didn't behave any differently apart from a moment's confusion, and those who survived were just so relieved at having everything back to normal that the world just kept on going. Everything returned to normal - school resumed, along with homework and tests and friends and Flash (urgh), shops properly reopened, the streets were cleaned up, most of the Avengers actually retired, going off the map for a bit, his Aunt continued making that awful meatloaf that Peter didn't complain about eating and everything just… returned.

But for Peter, feeling his own death and then coming back again has side-effects. Side-effects that have stuck with him in the months following being restored, so much so that even four months on and he's still not back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> urgh this chapter is bad, setting a story up is not something i'm at all good at and this chapter was basically that so i apologise, not much happens in this chapter but i had to set the rest of the story up but i promise it gets more gritty in the following chapters :D
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoyed, regardless


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s not bulletproof. Or panic proof. Or Tony proof, for that matter.

As is his new normal now, Peter sits at the top of the tallest building he can find with his mask off. He doesn't venture further down on the streets without his mask, but when he's alone with no chance he'll be watched he relishes in the freedom of nothing constricting his mouth and making it hard to breathe. Sometimes he wishes he could talk to Karen without his mask; Peter can trick himself into thinking she's a real human most of the time and his loneliness starts to ebb away when he talks to her.

It's not that he's alone - far from it, in fact. He has Ned and MJ and May (and, occasionally, Mr Stark), so he's not alone. But there's something about dying on an alien planet, literally turning to dust, and being able to _feel_ it that carries a certain air of isolation about it. No matter how many hugs he gets from May and sarcastic teasing from MJ and just pure, unadulterated, amazing best-friendliness he gets from Ned, he can't shake what happened on Titan.

He's not alone, but he's lonely.

And on top of that, his Spider-Sense (as dubbed by Ned) has been going haywire. He's not sure what it even is at the best of times, but he's pretty sure it's not meant to alert him of danger when there is no danger (see: lying in bed getting ready to fall asleep - unless it can sense his upcoming nightmares but, come on, he doubts it). He isn't even sure if it _can_ malfunction but it definitely seems to be doing so. The worst part is the pain that comes along with a severely malfunctioning Spider-Sense, because when it senses that he's going to be near death it is the _strangest_ most _painful_ feeling in the world. And when he's already felt it once before he turned to dust, it's just another in a long list of reminders about what happened.

Police sirens reverberate in his head (his senses aren't at eleven anymore, either, Peter's noticed. They're more like fifty - and that's on a good day) and he swiftly pulls on his mask.

"Karen -"

"Peter, your heart rate is 110 beats per minute."

Peter sighed (he could feel that for himself, thanks Karen). "Where are the police headed?" he asks, getting up from the roof and positioning himself on the edge of the building, ready to swing down.

"I recommend you sit down, Peter, and get your heart rate slower."

"Karen, please just tell me." He was not interested in _this_ part of the AI's system. He was all for tricking himself into thinking she was human, but he didn't want another May or Mr Stark. So what if his heart rate was elevated, it wasn't new and it certainly wasn't dangerous (he chooses to ignore the times when it certainly was dangerous and he felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest and his lungs felt like they constricted so much he couldn't physically breathe, because he's Peter Parker, he's _Spider-Man_ and he's fine).

"There are reports of an armed robbery on Parsons Boulevard, five individuals with guns."

Peter groans. (He really hates guns.) "Thanks, Karen," he says as he leaps off the building and slings a web to the adjacent building.

"You're welcome, Peter."

_.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._

He gets there in record time (hah, take _that_ police) and doesn't wait for the cops to catch up. He lands (not-so) gracefully in front of the building and comes face to face with a _freaking gun._

"Well, that's not scary at all."

His Spider-Sense triggers a buzzing in his head and as he leaps to his right he feels the bullet graze his left leg. He clenches his teeth from the sudden pain; he should have moved out of the way quicker, he _shouldn't have been hit._ Spider-Man does not get hit.

A second bullet flies towards him and he jumps out of the direct firing path, feeling another jolt in his shoulder. He knows he’s been sluggish recently, dropping the ball on many occasions, but two for two is _ridiculous._

"Maybe we could, um, put the gun down, dude?" He flings a web to the building behind the man, pulling himself to rest on the side of the building, above the guy with the gun. "I'm not your own personal shooting range."

The man spins his gaze to Peter but Peter’s quicker this time and he shoots a web _right_ at the gun and pulls it _right_ from his hands. Webbing it to the building (far from where anyone can reach it), he flings a second web at the man on the ground, rooting his feet firmly down. A third flies to bind his hands together and a fourth webs his mouth shut, quicker than he cold even blink. (Except he did blink, more than once, and Peter knows he’s being far too slow.)

He hears the nearing of sirens and knows he's got another thirty seconds before the area really does become a shooting range, and he flies in through the window, smashing it into pieces (he can't help making an entrance sometimes, but also _glass_ … ouch). "Hey, guys. You need a better lookout."

Three guns turn to point at him and Peter's Spider-Sense is almost so loud and constant it's become background noise, but that doesn't stop the pain spiking his head as it rings incessantly. At least it's not malfunctioning now. There's definitely danger and he can _definitely_ feel it.

"Hey, hey now, guys. Let's not overreact."

A bullet flies past him as he leaps to the left and webs one of the men to the wall behind (sometimes Peter’s surprised by the force of which the webs leave his shooters), snatching his gun and webbing it to the ceiling as he does.

"Peter, your two bullet wounds are ser-"

"Kind of busy, Karen."

"The police are twenty seconds away, I recommend you wait for back-up."

He dodges two more bullets (and Karen's instructions) and decides to shut his mouth for the rest of it. His Spider-Sense won't shut up and it's making it harder to think. He works mainly on instinct for the next twenty seconds. The man webbed to the wall exclaims all sorts of curses as he tries to get free and Peter thanks the universe that he's focused on that and not trying to kill him.

The other two still try to shoot at him (seriously - because that worked so well for the first two) and the fifth and final man seems intent on continuing on with the robbery (dude, _priorities_ ).

He tries to keep dodging the bullets from the men (yes, _Spider-Sense_ , he's aware there's danger) and he's sure he's unsuccessful a few times, but his body is running purely on adrenaline now and it's the best pain reliever he knows of. His body has a dull ache running through it as he flips and spins through the air, trying to web up the rest of the men (at least the final one has finally stopped trying to rob the bank, like come on dude you weren't exactly going to be successful, were you) before the police arrive. He's not interested in their preferred method of attack - he'd much rather get the guns out of the way _before_ they turn up so they're not _lethal_ criminals. Criminals work just as well. He feels the butt of a gun connect with his back (how did he _miss_ that?) and can’t stop his natural defence kicking in and his fist connecting with the man’s cheek behind him.

He isn't sure how many bullets he dodges (some so close he can feel them damage the suit) or how many fists and feet that hurtle towards him, but his Spider-Sense hasn’t become any quieter or painful and Peter knows he just has to _keep going_ and get the guns away.

And when the twenty seconds are up, Peter swings away from the scene. Five men are webbed to the wall or the ground, with their hands bound. Five guns are webbed to a wall or a ceiling, safely out of reach.

He's done his job.

_.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._

"Karen," he gasps, the fight catching up with him as he falls back onto the roof and shuts his eyes. "What are my injuries?"

"You have a bullet in your left shin, your left scapula-”

“Wait, wait wait,” he says hurriedly, his eyes snapping open, sitting up straight and grabbing his leg, examining the wound. “In my leg? I thought it just grazed it!”

“No, Peter. The bullet is approximately two centimeters deep into your shin.”

 _Ah_ , Peter thinks, _so that’s why it’s been hard walking._

“Okay.” He sighs deeply. That is not good. So, totally not good. While he's not completely against the idea of trying to remove the bullets himself, he knows he physically won't be able to do it properly. By all means, he wants to try; anything to avoid the inevitable. After all, he can't go to a normal hospital as he's not exactly _human_ which means he has to ask his mentor for help.

Peter considers leaving them in, knowing that's a possibility, but he can't exactly get an x-ray machine from dumpster diving to see whether it's probable. He sighs again. It'll be okay. His healing will take care of the clotting soon and then he can clean himself up and go to Mr Stark looking more presentable and less like he'd just walked out of his own coffin.

He shudders (why did his mind think about his death, goddammit). “What else?” he says eventually.

“You have lacerations on your cheek, right forearm and upper back-”

“Yep.”

“-and multiple contusions.”

Peter hums to himself, knowing that’s exactly why he’s beginning to feel so weak, but that’s not his concern. He’s got two bullets lodged in his body. He shouldn’t be that slow, that _bad_ at fighting normal people who don’t have spider powers or Spider-Sense. He should have walked away with next to nothing, instead he gets _this_.

“Would you like me to contact Mr Stark?”

 _Definitely not_. “No, no. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve been programmed to get help when you’re this injured, Peter,” Karen insists.

“It’s fine, Karen. I’m okay.”

If AIs could roll their eyes, he's sure Karen just did so. “Contacting Mr Sta-”

“Karen! No, no, no!” He hears the dialing tone. “No, Karen, hang up. I’m _fine_ , please, Karen, I’m-”

“ _Hey, Kid._ ”

Peter rips off the mask, ending the call instantly. The absence of Karen makes him suddenly feel lonely but he can’t risk Mr Stark seeing him like this, sat on a rooftop, bleeding and shaking. He can’t have Mr Stark seeing him so _weak_. He’s Spider-Man.

He sighs, closing his eyes and focusing on the pain in his body to ground his floaty mind. He’s really starting to feel the sensation of the bullets in his shoulder and leg now, a tingling and lightning sensation at the same time. His Spider-Sense hasn’t calmed down and he knows that there’s no danger which means it’s malfunctioning again (if it _can_ malfunction? Maybe he should look into that). His haywire senses start to make his whole body tingle, and then it starts getting painful.

And then the memories come crashing down much like the tiredness did earlier on, and suddenly he can't breathe.

Pain radiates throughout his body and he’s unsure if it’s real or imaginary but he doesn’t care because it _hurts_ and he’s _alone_ and he’s going to _die._  He’s going to turn to ash like Mantis and Drax and Quill and Dr Strange and he’s going to crumble and fade and disappear and _he’s going to die._

His body falls back and hits the ground beneath him and he doesn’t feel the pain that should have come, it’s no more than a dull _thud_ and his hand presses the spider on his chest instinctively. He needs to breathe, he needs to get whatever is constricting him _off_ him but it doesn’t help and he still can’t breathe.

He hears someone gasping for air and his own lungs burn and his heart feels like it’s going to rip through his ribcage and jump through his chest. The horrible gasping turns into choked and breathless sobs but he can’t have it in him to go to the person to help when all he feels is millions of needles jabbing into his body and it _hurts_. It hurts so much.

He rolls ungracefully onto his side and coughs forcefully, feeling something blocking his lungs, blocking his trachea, blocking blocking _blocking_. And it’s ash, he’s sure. He’s disintegrating from the inside first and it’s choking him.

He accidentally glances to the left and he sees the sun and it nearly blinds him so he screws his eyes shut tightly and he hears a noise, a loud, grinding noise like metal and it’s too loud and there’s too much input and there’s too much, there’s too much, toomuch _toomuch_.

Then he realises those noises, those awful sobs and gasps are coming from _him_ and he nearly throws up because he can’t breathe and he’s dying and it hurts and he’s all alone.

“Pete?” Tony Stark’s voice cuts through _everything_ like a warm knife through butter and suddenly he’s not alone, he’s safe, he’s with Mr Stark and he’ll protect him and hold him like he did on Titan but he can’t because on Titan, Peter faded away, he turned to ash, he _dissolved_ and Mr Stark couldn’t stop it so how could he stop it now when he couldn’t the-

“Peter, listen to me.”

His mind follows the command because it’s easier than thinking.

“I need you to open your eyes, okay?”

But that’s not a command and he can’t and he doesn’t want to think and he _can’t think._  There’s too much, there’s too _much_ it’s too loud and bright and there’s not enough air and he’s _running out of air._

“Peter, open your eyes.”

He does. He cracks them open and it’s _too bright_ and he squeezes them shut but Mr Stark tells him to once more and when he does Mr Stark is _there_. He’s sat with the sun on his back and a shadow is cast over Peter and it’s not too bright and it’s okay.

“Can you breathe for me, kid? Take a deep breath.”

But he can’t because there’s ash and dust and he _can’t._  But he tries because Mr Stark tells him to and Mr Stark is Ironman and Mr Stark knows what he’s doing.

He chokes on a sob and clutches his neck because it feels like someone is choking him, cutting off his air supply and it hurts and he can’t breathe!

Strong, large hands grasp his own and pulls them away from his neck, holding them tightly and Peter focuses on them rather than the pain that is radiating all over his body. They’re warm and Mr Stark and _safe._

“Take another deep breath. I know it’s hard but you just have to do it. It’ll be okay.”

He tries, he really does try, but he can’t because he _can’t._  So he focuses back on Mr Stark’s hands holding his own and he focuses on the feel of them. He can feel the roughness that show how hard he’s worked. He can feel the warmth and the trembles (then he realises _he’s_ the one trembling) and it’s _Mr Stark._

“Kid?”

He chokes on a sob again and managed to look up at his mentor’s face. He tries to speak. His mouth opens. All that comes out is a keening sound.

Mr Stark looks at him and supports him into a sitting position. There’s worry in his forehead but he smiles in a way that reassures Peter. His hands hold Peter’s tighter as if he knows that it’s what Peter is grounding himself on. “Okay, breathing exercises not good then. Tell me what you learned in class, kid. Or even better still, what you knew already and everyone else learnt.”

Peter’s eyes try and focus on Mr Starks face and they act like an unfocused camera. Momentarily focused and uselessly zooming in until they unfocus once more. He opens his mouth again. He feels Mr Stark’s hands and he starts to feel the cold ground beneath him and there’s a slight wind and it cools him down and it feels like he’s sweating.

“I-Insp-” he gasps, “pira-ation.”

He smiles again. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

“Br-eath-thing i-in.” He hears his own voice. He’s alive. His lungs must be working because he’s talking so there’s nothing _in_ them. “U-use-s i-int-ter-co-stal m-musc-les. D-di-diaph-ragm.”

Mr Stark’s hands squeeze his own and he chuckles slightly. “Of course you’d talk about breathing. That’s what you’re doing, Peter. You’re _breathing in_. You’re using your own intercostal muscles and your diaphragm is helping and - well, anatomy wasn’t my best subject but - your ribcage is moving because you’re breathing in. And out. And in again.”

Peter tries to nod. He thinks he manages it. “M-Mr Sss-tark? D-don’-t w-want t-to die.” Because that’s what’s happening. He’s dying, he’s sure he is. He is, isn’t he?

“You won’t die, Pete. You’re having a panic attack.”

 _Oh._  That… makes a lot of sense. He's had them before, just… this is a bad one. A _very_ bad one.

“P-pan-nic-,” he coughs roughly, not able to finish his question.

“Yeah. A panic attack. I know it’s scary but it will pass, okay? You just need to focus.”

Peter looks up a him, pleading with him to understand what’s happening.

“I know it’s hard, Pete. God, I know. But you've just got to focus. You feel how cold the ground is beneath you?”

Peter looks at the grey and slightly bumpy ground, his body feeling the chill it provides.

“And this.”

One of Mr Stark’s hands leave his own and rubs one of his arms, up and down, up and down, up and down.

Peter nods jerkily. “Mhm.”

The hand still holding his own brings one of his hands to Mr Stark's chest. “Feel my chest moving, kid. You feel that?”

Peter zones his vision to his mentor’s chest. He watches his hand rise and fall with each exaggerated breath. He feels the movement beneath his fingertips and palm. It's rhythmic, constant, the same two things. Up and down, over and over. It's easier to let his mind hone in on that, to focus his senses on seeing and feeling that, then everything else.

So Mr Stark guides him through with each movement and soon Peter feels his own breathing slow and the dust in his lungs disappear. He falls backwards onto the ground, overcome by a wave of tiredness. Mr Stark is holding tightly to one of his hands that rests against his chest but Peter lets the muscles go limp. He can still feel the shudders running through his body and he's sure it's the adrenaline that's preventing him from feeling the pain of his actual, real-life wounds.

“Jesus, Peter. You're lucky I could trace that call.”

Peter just lets his eyes close as he slips into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> told you it would get gritty haha
> 
> i can't write fight scenes please forgive me, also all my knowledge of the geography of america is from google maps... forgive me #2 
> 
> (this would have been out much earlier had i not stressed over the awful awful fight scene)
> 
> next chapter out within the next week because i'm allergic to pre-writing stories and therefore write as i go (10/10 would not recommend)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony thinks he and his kid should probably have a talk. Peter thinks he and his mentor probably should _not_ have a talk, thank you very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i say a week? i meant a month... maybe four... agh i'm sorry it's taken so long the editing for this chapter was hard and it's not a good chapter but anywayyyy i hope you enjoy!
> 
> also i was watching iron man 2 the other day and the scene where tony and rhodey right, the first song played is another one bites the dust lol and also tony sat on a big doughnut at one point i mean,,, rewatching these movies after iw is torture haha

Awareness comes back to him slowly; he wades through a deep, dark swamp with the wind blowing against him. He doesn’t see much, doesn’t really hear much either apart from a few odd sounds here and there. He tries to continue walking through the darkness to get to the light on the other side of the plain, but it isn’t easy when it feels more and more like his body is made of lead the further he travels.

He realises what’s happening moments after his foot collides with a tree stump deep within the mud and he can’t stop himself falling face-first into the ground.

He doesn’t hit it. He plunges straight towards it but jolts to awareness just before he does. His body moves as it comes to realise where he is and his eyes fully open, momentarily blinded by the bright lights before they’re almost completely shut off. He feels a dull sensation in his shoulder and leg like someone is pressing on a particularly bad bruise in both places. (It briefly reminds him of that time when he and Ned would press on a bruise Peter had acquired every day, measuring the pain levels as the colour changed and it faded. Funnily enough, yellow produced almost no pain at all.)

He feels something unusual where his back is and shifts to get more comfortable, only to groan as pain spikes through his body.

A hand rests gently on his shoulder (the one  _without_ the bruise-thing), pressing down slightly. “Easy, Peter.”

The voice cuts through the unusual sense of fog around him and he finally realises that he’s in the med-bay at the Avenger’s Compound as he glances around (he’s been here far too many times to count - far, far too many  _embarrassing_ times so he’d rather  _not_ count).

“M’ssr St’rk?” he slurs, feeling like his tongue is to thick for his mouth.

“You with me?”

He blinks slowly and turns to his mentor. “Yeah.” Behind him, he can see various instruments, silhouetted by a wall of white. His eyes trail to Mr Stark’s face again, the creased pattern on his forehead and his messy hair immediately stirring guilt within Peter at the stress he must have caused after… whatever happened this time.

“We still haven’t perfected the burning-straight-through-you-pain-meds situation, Pete. You know the drill, tell me if you start to feel weird.”

He nods absently, only having taken in a portion of what Mr Stark told him. “Wha’ hap’ned?”

Mr Stark grimaces. “We’ll talk about that later, okay? You just… rest for now.”

“ _M’ssr St’rk._ ”

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “ _Later,_ ” he says, mocking Peter’s emphasis.

Peter doesn’t argue anymore, the grogginess making it hard to think properly. He lets himself drift away.

_.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._

He isn’t sure how long it’s been since he fell asleep (if he’s honest, he can’t really remember falling asleep. He knows there’s been an absence between  _then_ and  _now_ but can’t quite place time), but this time when he wakes up, it doesn’t feel like someone is pressing on bruises.

It feels like he’s been shot.

(Peter hates how he knows what that feels like. Being a superhero is cool and all, but god _damnit_ he hates getting shot.)

Then, with all the power of a speeding freight train, the reason why he’s currently lying in the med-bay with his mentor by his side slams into him. He’s sure that if he wasn't lying down, his knees would buckle and he’d fall to the floor in an instant.

“Hey, Pete,” Mr Stark says, surprisingly gently.

Peter groans in response and shifts on the bed.

“Sorry, kid. We can’t give you any more painkillers yet.”

He swallows. “I thought my metabolism handled that,” he says, voice rough.

“Yeah, it does.” He shrugs. “But better to be safe than sorry.”

“Says you, Mr Irresponsible.”

Mr Stark laughs. “I’m sure that would sound a lot harsher if you weren’t currently lying on a hospital stretcher with two stitched up bullet wounds and a voice that sounds like you’ve had year-long flu.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I’m being serious, kid,” he says (though he doesn’t sound very serious at all - hello, injured 15-year-old, can he at least get  _some_ sympathy?). “How’re you feeling?”

He shifts in his bed again, but pain spikes through his body and his wounds make themselves known ten times more than they’re already making themselves known. “Like I’ve been shot.”

“Don’t be difficult, Pete.”

“I think I’m allowed to be difficult, Mr Stark,” he says petulantly.

He rolls his eyes. “No matter how many times you tell me you’re not a kid, you sure do act like one.”

Peter shrugs nonchalantly (or tries too, because,  _ouch,_ his shoulder hurts) and groans in pain.

“You probably shouldn’t do that.”

“Great advice, sir.”

Mr Stark dramatically holds a hand to his heart. “When did you get so sarcastic?”

“When you get so boring?”

“Touché.”

Peter smiles slightly, biting his lip.

“Anyway, you know the drill - unfortunately, might I add. Do you remember what happened?”

Peter sighs. He tends not to tell Mr Stark everything because he doesn’t want a lecture on safety, no  _thank_ you, but he never knows what Mr Stark knows and therefore doesn’t know how much he can lie about. “Guys with guns. Got shot. Ouch ouch ouch.”

Mr Stark laughs. “Yeah, that’s the gist of it. And what happened after?”

“After?” he tries (and fails, he  _hates_ being injured) to sit up.

Mr Stark’s face scrunches up. “Yeah,  _after,_ when you were on the rooftop…” he trails off suggestively.

Peter lies there in silence, the full events finally dawning on him. He’d rather not remember that, but  _yay,_ Mr Stark,  _thank you_ for reminding him. “Yeah,” he says sadly. “I remember. How long was I out?”

Mr Stark raises his eyebrows. “Don’t try to change the subject, kid.”

“I’m not, Mr Stark. I’m still talking about being injured. How long was I out?”

(The great thing about being injured and in pain and, frankly, very tired, is the complete disappearance of one’s inhibitions. He knows he’s going to regret it later, but right now he simply doesn’t have the strength to hold back. And honestly? Screw you, Mr Stark. He doesn’t want to talk about that, thank you very much.)

He sighs and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘teenagers’ under his breath. “A few hours before you woke up the first time. They fixed your shoulder and leg, both bullets came out-”

“Can I see them?”

He rolls his eyes. “We might as well open a museum for the number of bullets we’ve extracted from you.”

“I’m just very good at target practice.”

“At being the target more like.” He sighs. “You were only out for about an hour after you fell back asleep.”

“Cool.”

“We need to work on your definition of the word ‘cool’, kid,”

Peter sighs and they lapse into silence; Mr Stark doesn’t stop worriedly glancing at him and bouncing his leg. Just watching him move like that is tempting Peter to do it himself. He can’t help that he has a lot of energy, even in this state the feeling of _ineedtomoveineedtobouncemylegatleastohgodmove_ is prominent. He shuts his eyes, blocking out the light, dim though it is, around him and trying to imagine he’s somewhere else.

He thinks of May and Ben, of sitting down to dinner with them after school one day, telling them about this new friend he made. Ned, his name was. He likes Lego too. The smell of burnt bolognese lingers in the air but the pasta is nice. Ben laughs. Peter likes his laugh.

“Peter, that was…  _some_ panic attack you had there.”

He reluctantly opens his eyes, the image fading from his mind. He goes to shrug but his shoulder preemptively spikes in pain. He simply looks away from him to the door. He wishes he had the strength to bolt out of it.

“Look, I’ve - I’ve got this number. For someone you can, y’know, talk to.”

He grinds his teeth. He does not, definitely not, want this conversation. “That won’t be necessary, Mr Stark.”

“Okay, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Can’t deal with this heart-to-heart shi- shiz. You need to see a therapist.”

He turns back his head to his mentor, letting it fall back onto his pillow tiredly. “No, Mr Stark. I don’t.”

He raises his eyebrows, retrieves his phone from his pocket and unlocks it.

“No, wait!”

Mr Stark stares at him expectantly.

Peter looks towards the sheets, his fingers fiddling with them, scrunching and creasing up little portions of it. “I’m already seeing one,” he mumbles.

Mr Stark doesn’t reply for a few moments, and Peter wonders whether he can see through the lie or if it’s only him and his super-hearing that can heart his own traitorous  _thump, thump, thump_ of his heart. “What?”

He looks up, staring at his eyebrows. “I said I’m already seeing one. The school set certain people up with councillors. If they thought they needed them, or help processing turning to actual dust.” He looks straight into Mr Stark’s eyes. “Which was great, by the way,” he adds.

Mr Stark slides his phone back in his pocket. “Oh.”

“Yeaaah.”

Peter glances around the room, feeling uncomfortable and seeing it on Mr Stark’s face that he’s feeling no different.

“Well,” his mentor says after a few moments, “I want to speak to them.”

“No! I, um, there’s no need.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t do heart-to-hearts?” he tries weakly.

In response, Mr Stark only rolls his eyes.

 _Come on, Peter. Be firm._ “Because it’s my business.”

“Peter, you just had a panic attack on a roof with fucking  _bullets_ embedded in your skin. They’re obviously not doing a very good job. And as my Avenger-spider-kid-in-training, it’s my job to make sure you’re okay.”

He shakes his head adamantly. “I haven’t had… something like that happen in a long time. I mean, not the bullet thing, that’s never happened.” He catches himself too late and Mr Stark huffs. “Well, I say never…”

“Museum,” he mutters.

“I swear I’m okay, Mr Stark.”

He sighs. “You’re not, Peter. What if next time I’m not there to help?”

Peter looks away from him; he knows that when Mr Stark wants, Mr Stark gets. He’s not going to be dragged into that this time. He can handle this on his own, he knows he can. He’s an Avenger now. He’s Spider-Man. “There won’t  _be_ a  _next time._ ”

“You can’t know that.”

“Neither can you!” he bursts out angrily. “Just trust me!”

The door opens and both of their heads snap to look at whoever is disturbing them.  Advancing no further than the doorway ( _probably wise,_ Peter thinks bitterly), Bruce asks, “is there a problem? I heard shouting.”

“No,” Peter says quickly.

Mr Stark rolls his eyes. “The kid won’t listen to me.”

Bruce chuckles. “As usual.”

“If you’re not going to help, big guy-”

“Is this about the bullets?” he says, stepping further into the room and letting the door close behind him, going to a monitor on one of the benches.

“Nope, it’s about the panic attack that half-caused him to pass out,” Mr Stark says frankly.

Peter groans and closes his eyes briefly. “You told him?”

Bruce smiles sympathetically. “Apparently it was kind of bad.”

“That’s the understatement of the century.”

“ _Mr Stark._ It was fine.”

His mentor raises his eyebrows and glares at him. “Uh-huh. Sure, kid.”

 _“May Parker is currently in the lobby, sir,”_ interrupts F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Peter looks vaguely towards the ceiling; still not having become used to her voice despite having an AI of his own. (Also, privacy, much?)

“Send her up, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“You called her?”

Mr Stark rolls his eyes and sighed. “She’s your Aunt, Parker.”

He shuts his eyes and tries to block out both men. This day just gets better and better. Disappointing Mr Stark wasn’t enough, it seems. The universe decides to show him at his weakest in front of him, have to be patched up in the Compound  _again_ and now he has probably worried May too.  _Great._

_.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._.-._.-._-._

Well, that went as well as he thought it would. Ever since she found out that he’s Spider-Man, she's had some… reservations. Apparently it's not reassurance enough that he can stop a car with his bare hands, swing across the city in seconds, take down a flying man on a flying plane that was  _flying,_ and lift tonnes of rubble off him (Peter wasn't meant to allude to that but May can be persuasive and Peter found himself relaying everything): no, she still wasn't happy with what he was doing.

This felt like the final nail in the coffin.

Peter managed to get Mr Stark to agree not to tell May about the panic attack on the grounds he'd talk to his (fake) counsellor about having one, but there was no convincing him not to tell May about the extent of his injuries (did no one seem to grasp the concept of super healing?). Which meant she fussed over him for far too long and took time off work for  _far too long._

“She worries about you,” Mr Stark says as Peter pulls on his t-shirt, groaning as it tugs on his healing wounds.

“I know.”

“You should let her know about how you’ve been struggling.” He holds out Peter’s backpack which he takes by the handle.

“It’s fine, Mr Stark.” Peter looks tiredly up at him. “She knows everything she needs to.” (Which includes practically nothing, but no-one needs to know that.) “Thanks, though. For… you know.”

“Anytime, kid.” He holds out his hand and Peter carefully shakes it, still mindful of his injuries.

He smiles slightly at May, standing outside the med-bay. “See you, Mr Stark.” Just before he reaches the door, his mentor calls out to him. He shifts where he stands to look at him.

“I - call me anytime you need me, kid. I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

“Thanks, but-” ( _I’m not going to bother you with my meaningless problems. I’m Spider-Man, not Spider-Kid._ ) “Thanks.” He smiles lightly and finally leaves.

Because everything’s under control.


End file.
